Chapter 26: Tiptoes and Tap Dances

It was Snape's turn to host tea, and for the first time he hosted it in his rooms. Meli found it best to arrive a few minutes early, in hopes of composing herself before Zarekael's arrival; it had been little more than two months since Snape's rooms had been neutral ground for a painful confrontation.

Snape, perhaps thinking along similar lines, had rearranged the main room so that it was hardly recognizable as the same room. Had he not done so, Meli would never have seen the paperweights.

He had moved his desk from the far corner to the wall near the entryway, treating Meli to a sight of its flawless surface topped by writing implements, all arranged neatly and efficiently. And, off to the left of the inkwell, there sat two glass paperweights, each with a pewter animal frozen at its heart. In one there charged a large rampant lion; in the other stood a unicorn about half the lion's size.

"Why, Severus," Meli said, a brush of Puck touching her smile. "I never took you for the patriotic sort."

Snape smirked. "Those are Dumbledore's fault," he replied, darkly amused. "He is also not fond of predictable Christmas gifts."

Meli shrugged. "On the bright side, these do have some practical use."

An odd little glitter flickered across the Potions master's eyes. "Indeed," he said. "They may well come in quite handy before long."

I don't think I'm meant to ask about that just now, Meli thought. Aloud, she replied, "I'm sure Dumbledore will be gratified to know it."

The tea that followed was to be the last peaceful tea that Snape, Zarekael, and Meli would share for the better part of a month. The very next day, something transpired which rather altered their routine, and not necessarily for the better.

Meli waited until the last of her students had filed out, then breathed an almost inaudible sigh of relief. It had been a trying day, but somehow she'd gotten through it. She slowly opened her satchel and began transferring books to it, glad that she could put her mind in neutral for the remainder of the afternoon and evening.

The sound of a throat clearing drew her eyes to the door, where a Muggle-clad American Auror stood smirking at her. Meli maintained her calm mask and smiled coolly. Oh, no. So much for putting her mind in neutral.

"Agent Hiller," she said. "My, how you do get around. First London, now here. What brings you to this insignificant corner of the world?"

Andrea snorted as she entered the room and approached Meli's desk. "Make it Kimberly," she replied with a flippant wave of her hand. "The title's only for the benefit of peelers and cops." She arched a skeptical eyebrow. "And as for why I'm at Hogwarts, I think you're a pretty good guesser."

Naturally. And, naturally, there's no way to warn either Severus or Zarekael that you're here. Beads of sweat sprang up on Meli's back, but she gave no indication of nervousness in her expression. "Touring the countryside?" she suggested lightly. "Taking in the sights, particularly the old castles?"

Andrea smiled slightly. "Something like that." She raised expectant eyebrows. "So do I get to meet any of these famous teachers I've heard so much about?"

Zarekael taught Potions the last hour of the day, Meli knew. If she hoped to keep him out from under the Auror's eye until he'd had fair warning, she couldn't risk taking Andrea anywhere near that classroom until she was sure he'd cleared out.

Best to stall . . . without making it look like I'm stalling, of course.

"Well," she said, after a moment of pretended thought, "Professor Flitwick should be close by. You'd love meeting him—he's very charming."

Andrea gave her a patient look. "Knowing your sense of humor, I don't even need to ask what he teaches," she sighed. "Charms, is it?"

Meli inclined her head to one side and smiled mischievously. "Admit it," she rejoined. "You miss me."

"It was still a bad pun," Andrea growled.

"I thought it quite witty myself." Just keep on the topic of puns—

"Actually," Andrea said, in quite a different tone of voice, "I was wondering if you could introduce me to the famous Potions master I've heard so much about."

So much for that. "Certainly." Meli glanced at her watch. "He should still be in his office," she continued smoothly. "You don't mind a stroll through the dungeons, I hope?"

Andrea smirked. "Not if you don't."

Please, Zarekael, please finish cleaning up early and be gone by the time we get there.

It was a sad fate that the more fervently Meli hoped for something, the more likely she was to receive its exact opposite. She was, therefore, disappointed but not really surprised to find that Zarekael was still in the Potions classroom when she and Andrea arrived.

"Hello, Meli," he said gravely as they approached him.

"Hello, Zarekael." Meli stopped at the edge of his personal space, Andrea a step behind her. It was best not to seem either too threatened or too threatening. "I'd like you to meet an old friend of mine," she went on. "This is Kimberly Hiller." She turned to Andrea and cringed inwardly. The Auror's eyes had widened, presumably in awe at Zarekael's size, but Meli knew that Andrea had already started a mental file on him and was in the process of labeling it "Probable Suspect". Meli cleared her throat. "Kimberly, this is my friend Zarekael. He's the Potions apprentice and part-time instructor."

Each of them murmured about what a pleasure it was to meet the other, but Zarekael, perhaps cognizant of Andrea's concealed scrutiny, had begun some guarded observation of his own. Meli did her best to maintain a casual façade, but the realization that she would have a lot of explaining to do later—for both of them—made it difficult.

She was gladly distracted almost immediately by the sound of a door closing to her right. She glanced to the side and was relieved to find Snape standing just outside his office. He inclined his head politely.

"Hello, Meli," he greeted her. "Are you giving a tour?"

She smiled. "Naturally, Severus. The dungeons are far more interesting than the rest of the castle, so I always start here." She turned once more to Andrea. "Kimberly, you asked to meet the legendary Potions master. May I present to you Professor Severus Snape?"

"I don't know," Andrea replied, deadpan. "May you?"

That earned her a mock-glare. "Severus," Meli continued, "this highly entertaining individual is Kimberly Hiller, a companion from my misspent youth in America."

"A pleasure to meet you," Snape said dryly. His mouth quirked in amusement as he offered his hand.

"Likewise," Andrea replied, shaking the proffered hand. "I've heard a great deal about you."

Snape's eyes flicked briefly to Meli's as he answered, "No doubt."

"She and I had General Chemistry together," Meli explained airily. "She thought that professor was a demanding genius until I told her about Potions at Hogwarts." She shrugged. "I don't know if she quite believed everything I told her, but"—she put on her best bad-liar-Gryffindor look—"you know me, sir. I never misrepresent a case."

Snape's eyes narrowed with humor. "Then, naturally, you'll have told her about the time you blew up your cauldron," he said sedately.

"Er—"

Andrea laughed. "No, I haven't heard that one," she said. "Though I did hear about the time she gave her lab partner polka-dots and the time she poisoned the mouse—not to mention some of her more colorful Herbology episodes."

"Herbology episodes?" Zarekael echoed, his eyebrows climbing fractionally.

Meli looked blithely at him. "I prefer to think of them as presented evidence that Herbology is a silly class with little practical application to life whatsoever," she replied stiffly.

Andrea smirked. "She said the same thing about Gen Chem until someone put silver nitrate on all the dorm toilet seats."

"I haven't been similarly proven wrong when it comes to Herbology," Meli retorted calmly. "I still firmly believe it's for poseurs."

This declaration drew smirks from both Potions instructors, but Andrea looked at her narrowly for a moment, then cleared her throat and glanced at her watch. "Well, as amusing as the topic of Herbology is," she said, her manner suddenly cool, "I have a meeting in ten minutes, so I really must dash." She nodded first to Snape, then to Zarekael. "It was nice meeting both of you. I'm sure we'll be seeing more of each other while I'm here."

Her back was to the other three when Snape and Zarekael belatedly reacted to her words by tensing just perceptibly. Even Meli breathed a silent sigh of relief at Andrea's departure.

Once the door had closed behind Andrea, Meli was suddenly and painfully aware of a glowering, towering shadow to her left.

"What was the meaning of that?" Zarekael demanded, his tone even but betraying more than a trace of stress.

Snape was rather more detached. "That, I assume, was your former roommate?"

Meli nodded, her shoulders falling slightly. "She knows enough to trust my instincts," she promised. "She'll believe me." After a great deal of talking, she added silently, but you really don't want to know that.

"All the same," Snape replied, "her demonstrated interest in both Zarekael and me does not bode well."

"She's an Auror," Zarekael observed hollowly. "Why would an American Auror come to Hogwarts?"

Meli frowned, darting a glance at Snape. "She's working on the Crimson Fell case," she replied. "Crim was an American citizen, so the American Aurors are running the investigation. Kimberly's come here to interview people who knew both Crim and Pierce so she can work up a profile—weren't you warned?"

Snape cleared his throat. "The timing of that information coming to light was rather inopportune," he said. "Other things leapt to the forefront almost immediately, and I forgot completely that Agent Hiller would be coming, much less that Zarekael had not been told."

It was true, Meli knew. Crim had died a week before Christmas, when students and teachers alike were caught up in a flurry of last-minute exams and papers. And on the day after Christmas, there had been the memorable confrontation about three other Death Eater murder victims, and by the time that fiasco had come to resolution, Snape could easily have forgotten about the probable upcoming visit of an Auror sometime in the next several months.

"Well, in any case, you know now," Meli sighed. "And don't worry about the scrutiny, Zarekael. When she and I first met, she had her wand pointed at my nose within five minutes. You both got off without that treatment, and on top of it, you've got someone to vouch for you. She's seen me identify Death Eaters before; she knows I can tell the difference between Death Eaters and non-Death Eaters without mistakes."

That was also true. She had known Pierce for a Death Eater before he'd pulled up his sleeve; her neck had gone cold as soon as he had entered her classroom. And on two separate occasions, Andrea had seen her identify a Death Eater from a distance of fifty feet or more. Her instincts were proven; she could sense both the Dark Mark and the genuineness or falseness of the loyalty behind it.

She only hoped that Andrea would remember that.

NOVEMBER 1986, FRESHMAN YEAR AT UNIVERSITY

Jenny had the worst timing of anyone Meli had ever known. She habitually came over to "hang out" just as Andrea was starting her homework, and she added to that the habit of being offended if Andrea wouldn't hang out with her just then. Why someone like Andrea put up with someone like Jenny was a mystery Meli never did solve, but she concluded that it must be some sort of charity arrangement.

One fateful Friday, when Andrea's car was in the repair shop, Jenny dropped in to beg a ride to Park Meadows. That Andrea had no car was entirely beside the point; Jenny wanted to go to the mall, and Andrea must take her. After ten minutes of fruitless arguing on the subject, Meli silenced Jenny by offering to drive. Andrea, perhaps suspecting that the actual destination might be a dark alley, and that only one person would return from it, offered to go along, as well.

Jenny was in favor of departing immediately, but Meli walked instead to the dresser, where she started to apply SPF 50 sunblock to her face, neck, and hands.

"What are you doing?" Jenny demanded. "It's November, you psycho! You don't need sunscreen!"

Meli turned to look mildly at her. "I'm incredibly proud of my pasty-white complexion," she replied. "I never leave home without sunscreen." So saying, she returned to her task.

Jenny's life did not at all improve once they got into the car. The American Ministry of Magic would probably have gone into conniptions had they seen all of the subtle improvements Meli had made to the Muggle technology; Jenny just thought it was an all-around annoying car—a sentiment which the car (whom Meli had dubbed Puck) reciprocated.

For starters, the front passenger seat didn't like Jenny, who insisted on riding "shotgun". The instant she sat down, it turned hard, and it refused to adjust to a comfortable angle for her back. The seatbelt, once fastened (and that was an adventure in and of itself) tightened quite uncomfortably, and the passenger-side airbag positioned itself slightly off-kilter—just in case.

Meli ignored Jenny's problems; Andrea was hard-pressed not to laugh.

Jenny also had an annoying habit of fiddling with the radio, a habit about which Andrea had once complained. While Meli had never expected to chauffeur Jenny, she had taken into consideration that Jenny was not the only person who did it, and she had taken appropriate precautions.

Meli turned on the radio and set it to KBPI, a station of which she knew Jenny did not approve. In under thirty seconds, Jenny's hands were playing at the preset buttons and the tuning knob, but to no avail. No matter what she did, the station didn't change. She even tried turning the radio off, but BPI continued to blare.

"Can we change the station?" she at last asked.

Meli shrugged. "Sure." She hit a preset, and the station switched to KALC.

Jenny was a bit slow, but then, she was also a Muggle. "I just tried that!" she whined.

"Oh." Meli glanced at her with her best deadpan. "My car and I have an understanding—I'm the only one who's allowed to change the station."

"Yeah, right," Jenny grumbled, crossing her arms in a huff.

Andrea waited until Meli was trying to merge onto I-25 in the middle of rush hour, then called, "Hey, Meli, I'm tired of Alice. Could we put it back on BPI? Uncle Nasty's on."

"You know where the button is," Meli said between her teeth, then followed the comment with a stream of invectives as some idiot cut her off and another nearly broadsided her. Andrea leaned forward and hit the preset for KBPI, then sat back and grinned at the look on Jenny's face.

"Only Meli and people her car likes," she amended, for the Muggle's benefit.

Jenny was still huffy when they arrived at the mall. As what Meli suspected was revenge, she hauled Andrea and Meli from one end of the mall to another several times, shopping as inefficiently as possible. However, since the witches were in far better physical shape, Jenny's only accomplishment was to wear herself out.

At last they went to the food court, where Jenny tried—and failed—to convince Andrea to go get her dinner while she rested at a table. Hunger drove her to her feet, so she did eat, but she expended her own effort to do so.

Jenny returned and ate her fries in sullen silence, an arrangement which neither Meli nor Andrea had any notion of disturbing. Unfortunately, Jenny could not long remain quiet without the aid of some form of gag, and she soon found something about which to chatter.

"Oh, my gosh!" she exclaimed, staring over Meli's left shoulder. Meli looked up mildly, but made no answer. Jenny's eyes had fixed on something—someone, rather—and were following that person's progress slowly around the food court. "Is that Professor Wilson?"

The object of her scrutiny was now to Meli and Andrea's left. The latter turned to look; Meli, already miffed at Jenny, took a sip of Mountain Dew and ignored her.

"Where?" Andrea asked. "I don't see him."

"In the bright red suspenders," Jenny specified.

The Americanism took Meli completely off-guard; she spit her mouthful of Mountain Dew almost directly in Jenny's face before she could contain the reaction. "He's wearing what?!"

Both Americans turned to her, Andrea a bit surprised and highly amused, Jenny very surprised and becoming enraged as she mopped pop off of her face and formerly white shirt.

"I take it that's not what Brits call those things looped over your shoulders to hold your pants up," Andrea observed dryly.

"I assume you mean trousers," Meli replied faintly. "And no, they're called braces."

"You don't know what pants are?" Jenny said derisively.

"Apparently, you use the term to refer to trousers," Meli answered acidly. "In Britain, it refers to underwear."

"And suspenders?" Andrea prompted.

Meli grimaced and did her best to remove the psychologically damaging mental picture from her mind. "Er . . . suffice it to say that no one would be wearing them in evidence in such a public place . . . and I sincerely hope that Professor Wilson will not be wearing them at all—ever."

Andrea nodded. "Okay, good enough for me."

"You ruined my favorite shirt just for that," Jenny muttered. The two witches looked at each other, shrugged, and returned to their meal. The Muggle, however, had not nearly vented her spleen to an extent that she deemed necessary and proper, and so abandoned her fries and as-yet untouched hamburger to drown them in a chorus of wails about how poor and mistreated she was in a manner reminiscent of Austen's Mrs. Bennet.

Meli and Andrea, meanwhile, ate in silence, neither having anything witty to say that wasn't at Jenny's expense, and neither wanting to hear anything that wasn't witty. This silent agreement was threatened near the end of the meal by a very unwelcome occurrence.

For reasons unknown to herself, though she wondered idly if it wasn't some idiosyncratic training received from Tom Riddle, when neither fork nor knife was required, Meli had always eaten one-handed. She handled food with her right hand, while her left rested on her lap. This now proved unfortunate.

A young man she vaguely recognized from her General Chemistry class came over to their table in the food court. Jenny immediately stopped whining, her eyes wide with anticipation. Meli and Andrea merely looked up.

"Ah, hi," he said. "Meli, right? Meli Ebony?"

Meli nodded slowly. "Yes."

"Jake Caldwell," he introduced himself. "We're in Gen Chem together."

She nodded again, fervently hoping that he would ask her about a homework assignment.

"Um—" He faltered, and her heart sank. He had a chemistry question, all right, and it wasn't academic in nature. "Are you . . . are you doing anything after the game next Friday night?"

Andrea choked on a mouthful of sweet and sour pork. At Jake's panicked look, she swallowed, then gasped, "Szechuan beef. That ginger'll get you every time!" She coughed a few more times, until she was sure she wouldn't laugh, then attacked her fried rice with remarkable enthusiasm.

Meli raised her eyebrows at Jake, ignoring Andrea entirely for the moment. "I do have plans, as a matter of fact," she told him, raising her left hand to rest on the table. "But thank you for asking."

"Well, then Saturday, maybe?" Jake persisted.

She cleared her throat. "I'm afraid not." She used her left hand to tuck an imaginary lock of hair behind her ear, and this time he saw the ring. His face went red; he stammered an apology, then fled, evoking a villainous pity in Meli.

Jenny leaned forward accusingly. "Meli, do you have any idea who that was?" she hissed. "Jake Caldwell is—"

"Not interesting to me," Meli interrupted. "I'm sure he's a perfectly nice fellow, but I'm simply not interested in dating. Especially when I'm wearing another man's ring."

"You're fiancé's dead," Jenny snapped thoughtlessly. "I doubt he'll mind."

Andrea glared at her, but Meli, the only one at the table who knew the whole story of her faux engagement, shrugged. "What makes you think he's got anything to do with it?" she countered. "I really don't care if I ever date or marry, and my fiancé's not the reason. Thinking back, I doubt I'd ever have married him." And, in fact, I wouldn't have, she added silently.

"Oh, you don't like boys at all, then, is that it?"

Meli crossed her arms. "Oh, they're fine as friends, even if they are rather dense and piggish, but I can live in contented singleness for the rest of my life, thanks."

"You don't like boys," Jenny concluded. "Haven't you ever seen a boy you thought was hot?"

"Certainly," Meli replied. "Every boy I've ever seen who's had a sunburn."

Jenny gave her a withering look. "Have you ever thought a boy was good-looking?" she re-phrased through gritted teeth.

Meli caught Andrea's eye and sighed dramatically. "All right, then," she muttered. "Point one out to me, and I'll give you my honest opinion."

Jenny narrowed her eyes in concentration as she looked around the food court, obviously seeking out the most gorgeous male she could locate in the vicinity. She needn't have bothered; Meli was pretty sure that their aesthetic opinions were completely opposite.

"What about him?" Jenny asked at last, pointing across the room at a young man with black hair that came down in a widow's peak similar to Meli's. She looked obligingly over at him, then froze, her eyes locked first on him, then on the older man he was with. He glanced her direction, and that brief, passing eye contact was enough to make the back of her neck go cold.

"Very plain," she said woodenly. "A complete dog."

Jenny glared at her, then stood and stormed off to clear her tray.

Meli leaned over to Andrea. "They're Death Eaters," she hissed.

"Excuse me?"

"Eddie Munster," Meli clarified. "And the older fellow with him."

Andrea surveyed the twosome with slitted eyes. "You can't know every Death Eater by sight," she murmured.

"I don't have to," Meli replied. "I can sense them."

"We'll talk later," Andrea said, then returned to her food as Jenny came back.

"Think we could make another stop first?" Meli asked conversationally. "I need a new bumper sticker."

Jenny glared at her. "You're the driver," she spat. "It's not like I could jack your car and leave sooner, is it?"

"Not really, no." Even if you could get your hands on the keys . . .

The stop was at a store that sold, among other things, sarcastic bumper stickers, and there Meli purchased a black sticker with a splash of red words declaring, "So Many Men—So Little Reason to Sleep With Any of Them!" This she applied immediately to her car's back bumper, in Jenny's full view. The Muggle girl glared ineffectively at her, but gave no other reaction.

The next stop was Jenny's dormitory, where the front passenger seat turned into an ejection seat in its eagerness to get rid of her. Rather than sending her out through the roof, it was courteous enough to dump her unceremoniously out the door, but the end result was about the same. The seat calmed down and had a considerable improvement in its attitude when Andrea moved up to sit in it.

They were silent all the way back to their dorm, where Meli applied a bit of judicious magic to remove the bumper sticker, maintaining silence until the door was closed, locked, and warded behind her and Andrea. At that juncture, Andrea turned to Meli, her eyes hard and her mouth grim.

"How did you know, Meli?" she asked. "You were right, you know, but they're American—not members of Voldemort's inner circle. How could you know?"

"I told you Andrea, I can sense them," Meli replied. "The back of my neck goes cold." She narrowed her eyes. "Now, how did you know?"

Andrea swallowed. "The guy you called Eddie Munster went to Ariel Academy with me," she answered. "If he'd gone to Hogwarts, he'd've been in Slytherin for sure. His name's Damon Vlad. Everyone knew his father's a Death Eater . . . but old man Vlad got off with an Imperius plea, and in any case no one would mess with him." She shook her head. "I never believed him for a minute—he's a Vlad, and Vlad means vampire, which further means you're lucky if they're just Death Eaters." She crossed her arms. "So tell me about this sense of yours. How is it you can sense a Death Eater at a hundred feet?"

"I don't know," Meli admitted. "It's been that way as long as I can remember."

Now her roommate's eyes widened to saucers. "You've been around Death Eaters as long as you can remember?" she choked out.

Meli bit her lip. She had known that she'd have to explain everything to Andrea, but now was hardly an ideal time for it. Nevertheless, it seemed that the time had come, ideal or not.

"I grew up around them," she said hollowly. "I told you my father's surname was Grinden . . . but I was never given it."

Andrea's mouth drew into a dangerous line. She turned and covered the room with silencing charms. "Spill it," she said between her teeth as she turned back to face her roommate.

"I don't know the full story," Meli answered slowly, "but as I understand it, my grandfather killed my parents as soon as they were no longer of use to them. He raised me to be loyal to him and to follow in his footsteps. He gave me his mother's surname—not even his own."

"And what particular name would that be?" Andrea demanded softly.

Meli swallowed again, hard. "Marvolo."

Andrea stood very still, seeming not even to breathe, for a very long time. At last, though, she slowly nodded, and Meli could almost see pieces falling into place in Andrea's head. "It all makes sense," she said. "The safeguards in your car, sensing Death Eaters, being a Parselmouth . . . It all fits." Her eyes riveted on Meli's. "So if you don't mind my asking, how is it that you don't have a Dark Mark?"

Meli cleared her throat and smiled sheepishly. "A large part of it would be that . . . um . . . I told him to shove it."

That explanation knocked the wind out of Andrea. "You told You-Know-Who to shove it?!"

"Well, I was more polite than that."

"You told You-Know-Who to shove it." Andrea shook her head, flabbergasted.

"Oh, don't dignify his name by not speaking it," Meli growled. "He doesn't deserve such recognition. Just call him Voldemort and have done with it."

"What did he do, Meli?"

Now Meli smiled ruefully. "He took steps to ensure that my life would be a thoroughly miserable," she replied. "The Death Eaters are under orders to kill everyone that matters to me, and if Voldemort ever kills or tortures anyone using magic, I undergo a treatment—a seizure, the Muggles have charmingly named it—that makes the Cruciatus feel like a back rub." It was easy to joke about now, of course; she hadn't had a seizure in five years.

"How old were you?" Andrea asked. "You can't have been very old at all."

"I turned eleven a fortnight later," she replied.

"That son of a—"

"Believe me," Meli said, "he's been called that and worse numerous times." She shrugged. "But thanks to Harry Potter, Death Eater activity has dropped off and the curses have stopped altogether." She sobered. "Not that I expect it to last."

Andrea looked thoughtfully at her. "You really do think he's coming back."

Meli nodded. "I know it. Not yet . . . but soon."

"If I'm an Auror when he does, I'll rip him a new one or three," Andrea promised. "Just for you."

PRESENT: LATE FEBRUARY

After Andrea's meeting following the unwanted detour to the dungeons, Meli found her and offered a full tour of the rest of the school, which the Auror readily took her up on. Because of the possibility of their conversation being overheard by students and other faculty, they avoided any discussion that did not strictly pertain to the architecture and history of Hogwarts, much to Meli's relief.

While leading Andrea down the second floor corridor, Meli was only mildly surprised to see a rapidly growing puddle coming their way as they neared the girls' bathroom. The water seeped forth from that direction, signal of the resident ghost's displeasure at some new trifle.

"Leaky toilets?" Andrea speculated dryly.

"Worse," Meli replied sourly. "Moaning Myrtle. A pity she had to give up the ghost when she died; in my opinion, this school would improve considerably at her removal, but she's like a crabby relative—she'll be around forever."

There was an angry splash, and a wave of water missed Meli by bare inches. She looked calmly through the bathroom doorway to find the simpering crybaby in question hovering near the sinks and glaring at her.

"Poor Myrtle," she clucked, not at all pityingly. "What a shame that you can't justify your own pathetic existence except by making a bathroom uninhabitable." She brushed off her still-dry sleeves. "And incidentally, dear—you missed."

She ducked out of the way just in time for another miniature tsunami to sweep past, accompanied by a furious shriek from Myrtle.

"Ooh, if you weren't a teacher—!" the shallow ghost fumed, then disappeared back into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Meli snorted derisively, then turned back to Andrea. The Auror had left her to torment Myrtle, but had not fared so well as the tormentor; Meli found her busily wringing out her robes and doing her best to manage her hair. The crown of curls in question behaved properly only when held in place by the gel that was now dripping to the floor, leaving her hair to do as it pleased.

Andrea turned a baleful eye on her. "I don't suppose you could warn me next time?" she growled.

Meli swallowed to cover a snicker. "I'll do my best," she promised.

They resumed their course down the corridor, Andrea irritably spelling away the last of the dampness on her robes with one hand and plastering down her unruly spring-curls with the other. Meli cleared her throat and tactfully changed the subject.

"Did they not have troublesome ghosts at Ariel Academy?" she inquired lightly.

"A few, but not as many as Hogwarts has." Andrea glared at the puddle underfoot. "The thing you had to watch out for at Ariel were the warning signs posted everywhere. There were things that somehow or other got bewitched when the school was first built, and the subsequent teachers either didn't know how to get rid of the oddities that resulted, or they didn't want to."

Meli arched an eyebrow. "For example?"

Andrea pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Well, the first well in the area had something go funny with its water, so later when Ariel added plumbing, we had faucets that'd talk to us when we brushed our teeth, and a few would scream if the water was too hot or too cold." She grinned. "But my favorite was the toilets."

"I'm afraid to ask."

"Like I said, there were warning signs posted everywhere to keep us from giving various things an excuse to misbehave."

"Right . . ."

"And there were warnings up in all the stalls saying, 'Please do not flush paper towels. It causes the toilets to clog.'"

Meli gave her a blank look. "Andrea, the toilets at Ariel aren't the only ones that do that. They do that here, too; that's how Moaning Myrtle gets her spectacular puddles."

"No, the toilets didn't become clogged," Andrea corrected. "They clogged."

"Is this a subtle nuance peculiar to the American butchery of the English language?" Meli sighed.

The Auror shrugged. "I don't know," she replied. "All I know is that the minute a sixth grader—uh, first year, I think you'd call 'em—flushed a paper towel in defiance of the signs, every single unoccupied toilet in the bathroom jumped up and started clog dancing."

Meli stared at her, a frightening combination of horror and merriment overtaking her face. "That's the most deplorable pun I think I have ever encountered," she stated, her tone stunned. "I wish I'd thought of it."

"Interesting guy, Zarekael," Andrea remarked later as she and Meli finished the tour with tea in the latter's rooms. "Friend of yours, you said?"

"That's right," Meli replied firmly.

"Which I take it means—"

"He's all right." Meli raised her eyebrows. "Believe me, he's all right."

"You're sure?"

Meli sighed and raised her wand. "Accio teacup." Her blue and white cup floated to her hand. "Positive," she at last replied. "I'm as sure of Zarekael as I am of Severus."

Andrea crossed her arms. "And you're sure of him?" she countered.

"We've been through this before," Meli reminded her, with forced patience. "I'm not at liberty to tell you the precise why's and wherefores of it, but there is no way that he could be loyal to Voldemort." She went to take a sip of her tea, but there was none in her cup. "What the—?"

Andrea smirked and pointed to a puddle on the table. "Having a little trouble with your wand?" she asked innocently.

Meli muttered incoherent viciousness under her breath, then smiled sweetly at her friend. "It periodically goes on the fritz," she said calmly.

"I noticed that in college, too," Andrea recalled. "It seems to go in cycles, fluctuating between very easy and very hard to control. Did you ever consider having it looked at?"

"The wand works precisely as it should," Meli sighed. "It's rather an unusual one, according to Ollivander, but it chose me, so it's mine."

Andrea frowned. "What the heck did they put in the core?"

Meli arched an eyebrow. "You know, Andrea, it's very rude to ask questions you've already answered in the course of the conversation."

She watched as Andrea blinked several times, obviously reviewing what had been said. After a moment, though, the Auror's eyes widened to their limit as realization dawned. "It goes in cycles . . . werewolf hair?" she all but whispered.

"You can't tell everything about a person based solely upon first impressions," Meli told her quietly. "Not even yourself. I was convinced I would be put in Slytherin and end up following in the footsteps of a certain infamous ancestor when this wand chose me." She shrugged. "If not for my ability to sense Death Eaters, I might at first have mistaken Zarekael for one. But I assure you, Andrea, there is no truer man in Britain than either Zarekael Sel Dar Jerrikhan or Severus Snape."

"Okay." Andrea conceded the point, but her eyes were troubled. "And you're never wrong?"

John, Elizabeth, and little Meli flashed before her eyes, but she looked steadily past them to meet the Auror's gaze. "I haven't been yet," she replied. "More than that I can't reasonably say."

Andrea was silent a moment. At last she nodded, then said deliberately, "I trust you." Then her eyes hardened, and she added, "But if Zarekael does anything to betray your trust in him—if he's a Death Eater and tips his hand—I'm going to take him out."

"I know."

Believe me, Andrea. I know.

AUGUST 1986, FRESHMAN YEAR AT UNIVERSITY

For the first time in her life, Meli settled in to live long-term among Muggles. Seven years at boarding school had taught her how to pack light, so it was the work of less than an hour to move into her new dormitory room. She had, naturally, left most of her incriminating possessions in the care of Professor Snape for the duration of her stay in America, but a few necessities had to come along, and she had added to the lot a new pet shortly after her arrival. She sincerely hoped that her American Muggle roommate would be able to adjust to said pet; Meli really didn't want to part with either.

There was also, of course, the matter of her car. She fervently hoped that her roommate wasn't the borrowing sort, because Meli had made a number of post-assembly modifications that would be sure to mystify and alarm any Muggle driver. Still, if they agreed on limits from the beginning, it shouldn't be too much of a problem.

She hoped.

As she finished that thought, the sound of heavy footsteps reached her ears, followed directly by the wiry figure of a girl with dark, curly hair entering the room. She carried a trunk much like Meli's, but with a degree of ease that might have implied magical assistance had she been at Hogwarts. This being a Muggle school, however, it was probable, however unlikely, that she must simply be a very strong Muggle.

The girl moved carefully to the bed, dropped her trunk unceremoniously on it, then turned and plopped down next to it. She saw Meli watching her, grinned, and stood again, extending a hand. "Andrea Underhill," she introduced herself.

"Pleased to meet you," Meli replied, shaking the proffered hand. "I'm Meli Ebony."

Andrea raised her eyebrows. "Judging by your accent, you came a little further than I did."

"London." It wasn't entirely true, but she had flown out of London, so she didn't trouble herself to be more precise.

"Colorado Springs," Andrea said, smiling.

"Ah. A local." Colorado Springs was actually an hour and a half to the south, but compared with her, Andrea was most definitely a local.

Meli's pet chose that moment to announce her presence. Andrea nearly jumped through the ceiling as the snake bumped against the side of her glass cage with a loud, irritated hiss. "Dinner time," the snake prompted.

"Fine," Meli sighed, not even thinking that she was addressing the snake, not the Muggle. She turned toward the dresser, on top of which she'd left a mouse in a box—

And found a wand tip less than an inch from her nose. In the space of heartbeat, Andrea Underhill had drawn and aimed, and her eyes had gone from open and casual to hardened steel.

"You're a Parselmouth," the American observed coldly.

"And you're most definitely not a Muggle," Meli countered calmly, though inwardly she was cringing. What on earth were the odds?! She flicked her eyes to the side, then back. "You may find it expedient to close the corridor door before continuing this conversation."

Andrea's wand shifted for the barest second to close and ward the door, then returned to point at Meli's head before she could so much as blink—not that Meli had any intention of doing anything more dangerous than blinking.

"You're British," Andrea recalled. "Consequently from Hogwarts?"

"Yes." Meli would have preferred to nod, but she did not yet trust the other witch not to blow her head to smithereens if she made any movement.

"What House?"

Meli carefully kept her surprise from her face. This one had done her homework—an American Ravenclaw, if she'd ever met one. "I'm a Gryffindor," she replied evenly.

"What's your next most dominant House?"

Meli now resisted the urge to shrug. "It's probably a toss-up between Ravenclaw and Slytherin," she answered quietly. "I am something of a sneak when it suits me, but I'm rather too brazen and far too morally upright ever to fit into Slytherin House. My ambitions are academic in nature, and I've been told that I think more than a Gryffindor should do—consequently, brazenness aside, I could perhaps have been a half-hearted Ravenclaw." She narrowed her eyes. "And God help the mistaken fool who would try to place me in Hufflepuff," she added sardonically.

A trace of amusement touched Andrea's lips, but her wand never wavered. "I don't recognize the surname Ebony. Are you Muggle-born, then?"

"Muggle-adopted," Meli corrected. "I never knew my birth parents; I believe my father's surname was Grinden, but he died before I was born, and my mother died shortly thereafter."

"Grinden," Andrea murmured to herself, and Meli had the sudden impression that her roommate was a human computer, too smart even for Ravenclaw. "A mediocre wizarding family, no known extraordinary talents."

Meli held her silence, refusing to say anything that would drop further clues.

Fortunately, Andrea was perfectly capable of picking up the conversation. "Any ties to You-Know-Who?" she asked.

It was too much for even Meli's patience. "You call him that over here, too?" she snapped. "Oh, for heaven's sake, just call him Voldemort and have done with it!"

Andrea's eyes narrowed to slits. "If you don't have a problem with the name," she growled, "how do I know you don't have a problem with him?"

Meli clenched her jaw, then rolled up her sleeves. "See a Dark Mark?" she demanded. "Do you?"

For the first time, Andrea hesitated. "No," she admitted.

"Then kindly put your wand away until you see proof that you need it." Meli waited until the wand was once more stowed up Andrea's sleeve before continuing, "There is a tendency to fear something powerful which is also unknown, and Voldemort is powerful." She smirked. "But, beneath it all, he is nothing more or less than a poseur."

A snort of surprised laughter escaped from Andrea. "What?!"

"Had he not become a Dark Lord," Meli said blithely, "I feel certain he would have gone on to university to major in Herbology. At his deepest core, underneath the bluster and the cruelty, the man is a pathetic poseur."

"I cannot believe you just called Y—Voldemort—a poseur," Andrea breathed.

"I had a friend who once called him a prick," Meli continued darkly. "And it's more accurate than calling him a moron. Unfortunately, he seems to be quite brilliant, or he would have ceased to be a problem long ago. But even someone with an above-average IQ can be a poseur."

Andrea shook her head. "And I suppose you'd tell him that, face-to-face?"

Meli smiled thinly. "You'd be surprised at what I would tell him face-to-face," she replied. And have told him face-to-face, come to that, she added silently.

"I'm starving to death, you chattering Limey!" the snake hissed impatiently behind her. "Feed me already, will you?"

"Watch your mouth, you bloody fangless Yank!" Meli retorted, then arched an eyebrow at Andrea. "May I feed my pet now?" she asked calmly in English.

"Sure." Andrea darted a look at the pet in question. "Do I want to know where you picked up a prairie rattler?"

"Probably not," Meli replied retrieving the mouse. "I've removed her fangs, though, and put a spell on her to keep them from growing back.

"Ah." Andrea was plainly doing her best to carry on a natural conversation. "Sooo . . . have you named her yet?"

Meli smirked as she dropped the mouse into the cage. "Her name is Casita."

"Casita?" Andrea furrowed her brow. "I'm confused . . . That's Spanish for—"

"Isn't it an American television program—Little House on the Prairie?" Meli asked innocently.

Andrea's puzzlement melted slowly into disapproving amusement at the pun. "So you named your prairie rattler 'Little House'," she groaned. "That's terrible!"

"Get used to it," Meli advised dryly. "I'm a master of bad puns. Should I ever need to replace Casita, I'm thinking of getting a boa constrictor and naming it Feather. What do you think?"

Andrea smirked. "You being a Brit, wouldn't it make more sense to get a python and name it Monty?"

"Don't think it hasn't occurred to me. Perhaps, in the interest of subtlety I should get a boonslang named Polly."

Andrea stared at her, then blinked, then assumed a deadpan expression that would impress even John Cleese. "You're sick and twisted," she declared.

Meli smiled coolly. "That's what happens when you splice together a Gryffindor, a Slytherin, and a Ravenclaw," she replied airily. "Count your blessings, Andrea—I'm sick and twisted, but I'm also more or less stable. Imagine if you tried to splice in some Hufflepuff characteristics, as well."

"Your life story would be written by Stephen King."

"Precisely."

They grinned at one another for a long moment before Andrea spoke again. "You know what, Meli?"

"What, Andrea?"

"It's going to be a very fun four years."

The trickster's gleam reappeared in Meli's eye. "Yes. Yes it is."